


Home is wherever you are

by Wrathofscribbles



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22030357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: It's the final battleground where Accursed and Chosen crossed blades, and time itself remembers their souls, humans and daemons both.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Home is wherever you are

**Author's Note:**

> **Big bold reminder that Final Fantasy XV and all of its content is property of Square Enix.** I just like to play in the sandpit they've created for the fans.

He remembers the Citadel as it was, a jewel set in the middle of the city. Shining during the day with the sun's reflection, a beacon at night with the Wall's magic flowing from its center.

He remembers it as it was then, and sees it for what it is now: a ruin. A warning. This is what happens when you grow ignorant of the world and its suffering. This is what happens when you build walls and cut ties and isolate yourself from your neighbours and comrades. Turn your back and you'll wake to a blade in it one day.

But people return, reparations begin, and Insomnia rebuilds around it. Not quite what she was, there's too many scars for that, but something new, maybe something better. It's the thought and meaning behind it, right? Nobody attempts to secure the crumbling remains of that jewel, though. They visit, they explore, they pull what they can from the wreckage if only to preserve histories and legends and keep them around for future generations, but nobody lingers. Not for long.

It's too crowded, he knows, silence in the corridors broken by the clank and scrape of metal along the floors, the rattle of chains, the clamour of battle and the screams of the dead. Ghosts. Hundreds of them. At rest but without peace. He's seen some of them. Dressed in the finery of royals long gone, the armour of their guards. Trailing shadows and poison from clawed fingertips and eyes horror-bright and blazing with torment. Their blood on the walls. Their bones on the floor. Their fury in the air.

It's the final battleground where Accursed and Chosen crossed blades, and time itself remembers their souls, humans and daemons both. It remembers, and it preserves. He's run across Ardyn a few times in there, the man he once was and the monster he became, flickering between with every heartbeat, one and the same. But Noctis hasn't met the same fate. He's not trapped in there with his ancestors, bound by the magic once meant to kill him. Oh sure, the _King of Kings_ died on that endless night, when he left his crown on a broken throne. But _Noctis_ , no, he survived, too full of life and spite for anything else. He's never gone back to that place.

And when a hand clasps his and his thumb finds the marks left by that cursed ring, Prompto doesn't think he ever will.

"Let's go home," Noctis says, and he's grateful for it.


End file.
